I have been doing a lot of soul-searching. I am in the midst of an identity crisis, one that has ebbed and flowed throughout my life. Recently, I have found myself thinking I know who I am and what my story is - or at least, what I want the rest of the wide world to see, but as of this weekend, like a puff of smoke, all my earlier assuredness is gone.
It has been frightening and freeing to watch this come to a head. And, ultimately, I feel less paralysed and better able to get shit done. Well, the reality of that statement does remain to be seen - I feel like with a decent night's sleep I could, finally, accomplish something
I have been floating around on here, not sure what or who my online persona should be - full of lofty ambitions and stinging failures, looking back through my recent blog history is pretty hard for me. I've mentioned the difficulty in trying to write about going crazy while in the thick of it, my constant battle with the illusion of supermomdom, but that idea of an attainable ideal is something that has pulled me out of the muck time and again... pulled me out, only to shove me back in like that cousin that I once had a crush on. I think it is time to move on, to a goal that is less likely to lead to self-sabotage and mud-stains.
I don't know where I am going. I need to make a poster stating that, or maybe a disclaimer. As far as blogging goes, I'm not writing this stuff for pay (although that might kick-ass, the market is insanely saturated and the blogs that are out there trying to make a buck tend to be dulled by commercialism), this is a place for me to work on my writing (and typing), to share my experience and to post photos so I can hear people gush about how adorable my family is (that never gets old), this blog is for me and all about me n' mine. So lately, where my blog has been insipid and tired, so have I (or it might be the other way around).
I went to a party on the weekend for a friend's 29th. It was a nice time, but while trying to make conversation with strangers I realised something devastating. I am not interesting. At least, not to the common person. I got a few laughs (my forte) , but when it came to real topics - such as data mining and internet presence, a combination of subjects that I ought to have a thing or two to talk about, I drew blanks. Not just one, but blank after blank after blank. Many mid-sentence. On more than a few of those occasions I realised that what I was about to say was foolish or uninteresting, but on others my thought train just left. I can only imagine the impression I left (I hope that my being funny made up for some of it). It was an odd mix of people, all more worldly and interesting than I, stay-at-home mum who has done little else of note in the past ten years.
That stupid party just confirmed all my feelings of inadequacy, that I am immaterial and immature and "not applying [my]self" as my teachers were fond of saying. It brought up all kinds of deep pains, like my jealousy of my half-sisters who travel to interesting places (my summer trips were always to BC to visit my dad), have greater educational opportunities, more talent, and are all thin. It reminded me, being in my friend's beautiful condo, that we're broke and not nearly as hip as we'd like to think. And it highlighted how limited my knowledge of things outside of my middle-class white culture is.
I feel like I am the girl Pulp sings about in Common People, except that my choice to live like common people also effects my family - and it is true, as long as we trust in the safety of our parent's wallets, we will never live within our means. And even then, we will still get (and accept) nice gifts and a bit of charity (especially when it is earmarked for our children). I can't deny where I came from any more than my mother, who left the barn but never really left the farm, could ever deny where she came from. And that can actually be hard - and I know this will make me sound like a privileged asshole - growing up with everything I needed, so much so that seeing my younger siblings have access to more makes me very jealous, makes the fact that I have, currently, -$0.07 in the bank and a worn $20 in my purse really, really hard to bear.
This is not the life I'd imagined for myself and my family - in fact, it is about as far from the life I'd imagined as possible. And while I sweep aside my regret and go through the process, once again, of mourning the life I had seen ahead - I know that in me there is everything necessary to make this work. I know it is in there, because the alternative is unthinkable. To blow my one chance at this life would really suck.
I don't know what my future looks like, I do not know where I am going - and that's okay. I've got the wind at my back and I am ready for adventure.... I think.